


You're Much Cuter When You're Shutting Up

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/M, Innuendo, Post Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg and Cas try to formulate a battle plan for taking down Metatron. But the conversation keeps veering off-course. (AU-style, set some time after the Season 8 finale).</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Much Cuter When You're Shutting Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmonaught](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmonaught/gifts).



> Title taken from Goodbye, Stranger episode.

“What exactly aren’t you getting, Angel Soft?” Meg asks, shutting the fridge and popping open two beers on the edge of the counter. “We have a chance to sneak in through the backdoor, find God’s pet bookworm, and euthanize the little megalomaniac. Everybody wins. So what’s the hang-up?”  
  
She holds out one of the beers for Cas, shaking it impatiently when he just stares at it, making no move to grab it. After a few blinks, Castiel finally takes the bottle from Meg’s hand, gingerly taking a sip.  
  
“I agree that this opportunity is one we should take advantage of,” Castiel concedes, wincing as he swallows back the sour taste of cheap beer, “but why are we going in alone? At the very least, we should wait for the Winches—”  
  
Meg cuts off Cas with a huge, grating sigh as she drops her bottle on the counter with a sharp _thunk_. “Look, I know you have a massive hard-on for those flannel monkeys,” she says as Cas’s blue eyes narrow sharply, “but this backdoor is a little _speciesist_. Meaning no humans allowed. So your boyfriends are just gonna have to ride the bench and let the first-stringers take the field, _capisce?_ ”  
  
Cas is quiet as he contemplates the situation, absently taking another sip of his beer and managing not to make a face this time. “With the absence of my grace, will I still be able to travel through the door?”  
  
“You may be out of angel juice, but you’re still an angel at heart,” Meg answers dryly, one eyebrow quirked up. “And besides, Heaven should be able to recognize one of its own original cloud hoppers.”  
  
Nodding slowly, Castiel takes a seat at the table, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his beer bottle’s neck, although he has no inclination of finishing the God-awful drink. “I’ll go with you. Although without my powers, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be in taking on Metatron.”  
  
“Oh, you let me worry about the torture-party games,” Meg says with a wink, stepping up next to Castiel and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure I can think of some fun pretzel-shapes to bend him into until he agrees to give you back your glow stick and unlock the gates to Dick Land.”  
  
“I’m not sure that’s physically possible,” Cas states doubtfully. “Even with an angelically-strengthened vessel, bones are just not able to bend—”  
  
Meg moves her hand to place a finger on Castiel’s lips, leaning down to put her face even with his. Although it’s the second time Meg’s cut him off, Cas doesn’t seem especially perturbed. Instead, his mouth shifts slightly under her finger, and when Meg notices the way his eyes flit up to watch her mouth, her lips widen into a triumphant smile.  
  
“Now, Cas, use your imagination,” she chides, dropping her voice low and suggestive. “You’d be surprised at just how flexible this meat suit can be.”  
  
Moving her mouth over to his ear, Meg whispers a few elaborations. As she pulls away, Castiel frowns in confusion.  
  
“That sounds… impractical. When would I ever need to contort my body in such a fashion?”  
  
Meg’s only answer is a frustrated growl as she straightens up, grabbing her beer and turning around to lean her back against the kitchen counter. “I don’t even know _why_ I bother with your puritanical, feathered ass,” she sighs, rolling her eyes and taking a deep swig from the bottle before wiping her mouth and continuing, “I mean, _come on_ Cas. I’m a hot-blooded demon with 31 flavors of need and vanilla just ain’t gonna cut it.”  
  
“I don’t…” Castiel blinks in startled bewilderment. “What does food have to do with—are you _hungry_?” When Meg hits him with a narrow, heated look, he sighs and throws a hand up in exasperation. “Is this more of your sexual innuendo? Because we have very little time, and it would be in our best interest to formulate a battle strategy before engaging in this high-risk mission.”  
  
Slowly, Meg’s glare softens into another smirk, as if some deep-down ( _very_ deep-down) part of her actually finds Castiel’s ignorance _endearing_. “Sure, Clarence,” she agrees, “let’s talk about how to get your wings back.”  
  
More than a little exasperated, Castiel, asks “ _Who is Clarence_?”  
  
“Okay, when we get back, you, me, and a carton of Häagen-Dazs,” Meg promises, motioning between them with her beer bottle, “And we're fast-forwarding through all the boring parts. Or…” Too stubborn (or maybe just too stupid) to give up entirely, she saunters back over to the angel. Using the edge of Cas’s chair as a boost, she slides herself onto the table then kicks her feet over his lap so she can straddle his hips and lean in to finish her sentence. “…maybe I could just put the movie on in the background and let you lick strawberry ice cream off my stomach.”  
  
“That seems... unsanitary,” Castiel replies, his eyebrows drawing together and forming a cute little crease that Meg resists the urge to kiss, not when he insists on being so obtuse. “Do you not have any dishes? Because I believe Sam and Dean have some at the Men of Letters’ bunker.”  
  
Meg just stares at him for a minute, shaking her head and muttering curses under her breath, half of which sound like they’re in Latin, and Cas shifts uneasily, praying he doesn’t wake up the next morning with any missing or diseased body parts. When she pauses to finish off the rest of her beer, Cas tips his head up to look at her. She stares right back, watching him steadily with clearly frustrated eyes, and, still not sure what’s upsetting her, Cas asks,  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
Sliding off the table, Meg walks away, tossing her empty bottle into the trash before turning to exit the room. She pauses at the edge of the doorway and, smirking, looks back at the angel. “It's a good thing you're so cute, bird brain, or I’d have given up on you a long time ago.”


End file.
